The Invitation
by Sibylle1
Summary: Pa is away and …. A little comedy about fights, the mail, and an old friend. Typically?


**The Invitation **

"Will that boy never learn?" Adam tossed his hat onto the credenza with his left hand, as he licked the knuckles of his right.

"Nope!" Hoss agreed.

"But he stomped on my foot with his oversized boot and didn't apologize or nothing. I can show you my toe, it must be black and blue." The whine in Joe's voice increased with each word.

Nursing his own black and blue eye with his wet handkerchief as he flopped onto an armchair, Hoss exclaimed, "Don't bother, little brother."

"But …"

"Maybe the size of his boots could have given you a hint, Little Joe, not to start a fist fight with him, " Adam suggested.

"But …."

The glare Hoss shot at his brother from his good eye was the ice cold blue of a mountain lake in springtime

"B.. …." Joe's voice faded away.

"And maybe you could have recognized him as one of the Murphy brothers?" Adam continued with his tirade.

After a brief period of silence, Little Joe looked up at his older brothers. "Maybe I did know. But we Cartwright brothers are better fighters than those Murphys, aren't we?"

Adam rolled his eyes.

"I'll go fetch some ice …. Sorry, brothers. …. But it was great, wasn't it?" Joe's green eyes sparkled.

"We could be happy that Pa isn't around," Hoss said with emphasis.

"What would he do? We are men. I mean ….. " Adam's sardonic grin slowed Joe's speech. "I'm … I'm seventeen now," he concluded defiantly.

"All right," Adam took pity and let his younger brother off of the hook. "At least we taught those Murphys some manners. I've been wanting to for years." All three brothers grinned in unison at each other.

Joe was taking off his green jacket when he froze in his movement. Slowly he opened it button by button, reached into its inner pocket and brought out a sodden lump of paper. "The mail," he whispered desperately. "Pa will skin me alive."

"A man of seventeen? Do you really think so?" Adam's grin changed into a smirk.

"I remember what he did to you at seventeen after we came back from our little trip to Carson City," Hoss commented.

At that, the heads of both brothers snapped angrily around.

"Don't remind me of that, Hoss. If you two hadn't been involved in that incident Pa wouldn't have treated me the way he did!"

"You were the oldest and responsible," Hoss shrugged. "But you're right; it's not a pleasant memory at all. For nobody of us three I guess."

Not amused by his brother's talk, Little Joe fumbled to peel individual envelopes out of the lump. Finally he spread six letters on the table in front of the fireplace. "Maybe they will dry off and things will be fine," he stated hopefully.

With his head resting against the back of the chair and his good eye fixed on the ceiling, Hoss mumbled, "I can smell the beer on that all the way over here."

"That darn Mike Murphy spilled a full glass on me!"

"Joe! Blaming others won't do you any good!" Adam said, carrying a bowl of cold water and a piece of raw meat out of the kitchen.

After a while Joe said, "I … I think most of the letters are only a bit crumpled and wet on the edges but this paper … it looks … pretty bad." Joe held an elaborately folded sheet of paper in his hand. "Adam, can you help me?"

Adam had given Hoss the big piece of meat and was finally about to cool his own knuckles but his hand went instead to the bridge of his nose, massaging it. "Joe, you got yourself in this mess…"

"Please, Adam!"

"Don't make puppy dog eyes at me, Joe!"

Ignoring Adam's comments Joe continued, "I can read Benjamin Cart …. it must be Cartwright and also Samuel Goldm - m - man. The other writing is gone. Do you remember anyone named Goldman, Adam?"

"Pa has so many old friends. Sometimes I wonder myself when he met them all. But no, never heard of a Samuel Goldman. Show me the letter." Adam studied it briefly. "I saw letters folded like that in Boston; they were normally invitations. Look, it isn't sealed. We should open it carefully and dry it out or it will be ruined forever."

"Open it?" Hoss and Joe cried in horror, "Pa's mail?"

"Yes, or it will glue itself together as it dries and Pa will never know what's inside." Adam said, unfolding the paper.

"He is the oldest and responsible," Hoss mumbled towards the ceiling, his open eye the same blue as the water Pontius Pilate washed his hands in.

"I think it's not too bad, only the ends of the lines are blurred," Adam said after a look at the sheet.

Joe, filled with new hope, was now peering over Adam's shoulder. "Maybe we can fill in those words, Adam, and fold it back up again. Look, that 'Invit…' must mean 'Invitation'."

"Yes, and this must be 'San Francisco,'" Adam's passion for riddles kicked in.

"Yeah, and the invitation is for a 'ba…'. A 'ba….'. Must be 'a ball!'", Joe smiled. "Pa is invited to a ball in San Francisco. Maybe he'll take us along. I hear there's lots of pretty girls at balls in San Francisco."

"I would doubt that."

"But San Francisco is a real big town; there must be …."

"Pa didn't take you along this time and he won't the next time. But maybe he will ask me. It's my turn." Hoss nodded his head so vigorously that the hunk of steak threatened to fall from its place. "Ouch!" Hoss rearranged the slippery meat and sat motionless again.

"The space is too big to be such a short word, I meant," Adam stated dryly.

"Oh," Joe studied the paper intently again. "A barn dance, it could be a barn dance then?" he exclaimed.

"I hate barn dances," Hoss grumbled closing both his eyes in disgust. "Barn dances and cheese!"

"A barn dance in San Francisco?" Adam's sarcasm extinguished Joe's excitement.

Adam and Joe bent over the paper once more mumbling, "ba ... ba..."

"Barbecue," Hoss contributed, glaring with his bad eye at the steak that covered it again.

"Ba-ptism," Adam jabbed his index finger at the sheet. "This could be a 'm.' That's it! A baptism. The fine paper, the elegant invitation. A baptism! Joe, go and get me a pen and some ink."

At that moment the front door burst open.

"You deaf? I water garden behind house and hear. Fathel back early. Come help Hop Sing set table. I cook …" Hop Sing hesitated for a moment when he saw Hoss. "What you doing with my filet you …. you…" Hoss was glad he couldn't understand the flood of Cantonese that followed but he was pretty sure what it meant anyhow.

"Sorry, Hop Sing!" Hoss winced as the irate cook snatched the meat off his eye.

"I go back to China!"

"What's going on here?" a deep baritone rumbled from the doorway.

All three sons flew to their feet and looked wide eyed at their father, who had just entered the room.

"Will somebody enlighten me _perhaps_?"

"Oh, hi Pa; you're home early. We didn't expect you today," Joe tried to smile.

"How nice," Adam added lamely.

Ben scrutinized his three sons, well aware of their injuries.

"Out with it, what happened?"

When Adam felt the intense gazes of his brothers on him he cleared his throat, "Pa, it's a long sad story. - But there is something good too. You are invited by a man named Samuel Goldman – an old friend I guess – to…"Adam's right hand tugged his left earlobe. "To a –"

"Ball."

"Barbecue."

"Baptism."

"What?"

"A baptism," Adam repeated.

"A ball to honor the baby," Joe smiled.

"And a big barbecue afterwards. You know, with steaks, tenderloins, spare ribs, maybe beef filets…" Hoss, wedged between his Pa and Hop Sing, looked like a one-eyed owl trapped in the daytime.

"Really? To a baptism?" Ben Cartwright glared at his oldest, arching his right eyebrow. "And a barbecue with spare ribs?"

Hoss felt like twelve again under his father's glare.

"And a ball?"

Joe nodded slowly.

Their father leaned forward to look down at the table. Each of his three sons held his breath, but Ben aimed directly for the wet sheet and picked it up without hesitation. The three brothers exchanged anxious glances as Ben raised it to his nose and sniffed.

When their father lowered the paper and took a deep breath all three tried to close their ears inwardly but without success.

"I will tell you something, boys," Ben shouted, his voice growing louder with each word. " Look at me!" He waited silently until all five eyes are on him before letting the thunder roll again. "You can be glad you are men now or I would at least send you to bed without dinner." Ben's voice became dangerously low. "You know whom I met in San Francisco?" They all knew no answer was expected and waited for their father to continue even though they already suspected what was coming. "My old friend Sam Goldman. I got a wire in Virginia City the day I was leaving from there. He sent it fearing the mail would maybe miss me. And he was happy I was able to attend the – bar mitzvah of his son."

"Oh, that rules out a baptism," Adam mumbled sheepishly.

"And spare ribs, I guess." Hoss added.

"But not a ball, Pa. Were there pretty girls?"

"Joseph!" All three boys looked down again, waiting for a new outburst, but it remained silent.

When they dared to look up again they heard Pa's voice from the kitchen, saying, "Do you think you can rescue this fine piece of meat, Hop Sing? I'm so happy to be home. I've been looking forward to a decent meal for the past two weeks. Nobody can cook like you!"

"Hop Sing will." The cook's voice was gentle and firm at the same time.

"And you know what, sons?" Ben came in from the kitchen again. "On my way back I ran into that Mr. Murphy. He complained about you three and most particularly about the giant lout who bullied his poor innocent boys. And one word just led to the next and then somehow …. Well, I certainly showed him what a right hook looks like. - As for you, Hoss," Ben's gaze went slowly to his middle son. "Don't drop your guard or duck the next time!" Ben strode towards the fireplace, slapping Hoss's stomach lightly with the back of his hand as he passed. Looking at all three of his sons' incredulous faces Ben stated, "I think I can use a drink before dinner. What about you, boys?"

_Thanks, Sklamb, for your help._


End file.
